


slow

by diminishedmercury



Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, They Make It Work, angel isn't good with emotions, rook isn't that great either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26277163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diminishedmercury/pseuds/diminishedmercury
Summary: “Careful. I might get the impression that you actually care,” He scoffs and he’s impressed with himself that he’s able to keep his tone stable. He can practically feel Rook’s eyes rolling behind him, the ghost of lips skating across the back of his neck.“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He doesn’t know why it hurts to hear him say that. He wants Rook to care. He wants Rook to admit it. But he doesn’t know if he could handle hearing that. It’s easier this way, he reminds himself. It’s easier if they don’t acknowledge this thing that’s growing between them. He rolls over in Rook’s embrace, a frown thinning his lips. He doesn’t like how much emotion is behind the kiss he places on Rook’s lips.“Can’t we?”
Relationships: Angel Greene/Rook Branwen, Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	slow

**Author's Note:**

> Angel is my own oc! If you'd like to read about him, here is a link you can check out: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1awTyLWY_P2ZorPW-YBvh69awWVmP-T5ogl5wULC3Rwk/edit?usp=sharing
> 
> Rook is an oc that belongs to a good friend of mine

He dreams of death at night, sees the faces of those he has snuffed the breath from, sees the faces of those he never wanted to hurt. It’s hard for him to recognize this as fear— he’s been so scared his entire life that he can’t really tell what the emotion feels like anymore. Some may call him fearless, but he thinks that depiction is wholly inaccurate. He fears  _ everything _ . He fears himself, fears what he has become, fears what he  _ will  _ become. Death has become the only constant in his life and yet, he still runs in cowardice from it. He wants to be done with it all, wants to lay down to rest for an eternity, but the thought of all that he has clawed himself away from leaves him paralyzed.

“Angel?” He hears a voice murmur and all he can see is the face of a ghost. He’s awake now, he knows, but it feels like he’s floating in the inbetween that separates life and death. He shifts in the bed, turning his back to that voice. He wants to dream of nothingness. Rook doesn’t let him, an arm snaking around his middle and pulling him back into a cool chest. He imagines death’s embrace to be warm, burning hot to the touch, and he knows this isn’t what he wants. He feels cold, like he’s been dipped into a tub of ice. Rook shouldn’t care about him. Rook  _ doesn’t  _ care about him, he tells himself. But the icy touch at his hip speaks a different story. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“It’s nothing,” He lies. His hand finds Rook’s and he doesn’t know if he wants to pull it off of his body or hold on tightly. Rook, as always, decides for him. The cold of his fingers is a different kind of fear that floods his body in peace. “It’s nothing,” He says again, a little more confidence in his voice. He’s still lying.

“You’re lying.” He hates when Rook calls him out on his bullshit. He wishes he would just let him hurt when he wants to. It was easier when Rook just  _ didn’t care _ . It was easier when  _ he  _ didn’t care.

“Careful. I might get the impression that you actually care,” He scoffs and he’s impressed with himself that he’s able to keep his tone stable. He can practically feel Rook’s eyes rolling behind him, the ghost of lips skating across the back of his neck.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He doesn’t know why it hurts to hear him say that. He wants Rook to care. He wants Rook to admit it. But he doesn’t know if he could handle hearing that. It’s easier this way, he reminds himself. It’s easier if they don’t acknowledge this  _ thing  _ that’s growing between them. He rolls over in Rook’s embrace, a frown thinning his lips. He doesn’t like how much emotion is behind the kiss he places on Rook’s lips.

“Can’t we?” He breathes out against chapped lips. “Can’t we at least pretend?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever presented himself to Rook and he can’t help the way he reflexively shivers with the introduction of fear. But it’s fine— fear was familiar. Fear was safe.

“But you aren’t pretending.” He can’t deny the words. It’s hard to lie to Rook and have it believed. “And you don’t want me to.” He frowns at the words, a sickening feeling of panic welling up in his throat. He swings a leg over Rook’s hips and situates himself on top of the man, his hands holding him steady against a pale chest.

“I want you to care,” He admits. “But I can’t force you.” He feels a shift in their relationship, feels something click into place. It’s too soft. It’s too domestic.

Rook laughs, full-bellied and hot. “You don’t have to.”

“Fuck me,” He whispers and Rook complies. It’s slower paced than they’re used to, more meaning held behind each kiss, each brush of a hand against another’s body. But it’s good all the same, and it brings Angel to tears.

When he falls back asleep, a pleasant ache in his body, he dreams of life.


End file.
